


Lonely Creatures

by Simara



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Gen, Jonathan to the rescue, Psychological Torture, Scriddler, Solitary Confinement, why is everyone always so sassy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-04 04:45:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6641884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Simara/pseuds/Simara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edward is send to solitary confinement and Jonathan doesn't care. Well, okay, he does, but don't tell anyone, he's got a reputation to lose here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely Creatures

**Author's Note:**

> There are mentions of suicide, food-restriction and self-harm in this story that might be triggering to some.

**Lonely Creatures**

_“We are all sentenced to solitary confinement inside our own skins, for life.”_

_\- Tennessee Williams_

_Tuesday_

It all started during breakfast. Some no-name thug had started a fight which, for quite a while, the inmates had watched with some amusement. There wasn’t all that much entertainment to choose from in Arkham Asylum, after all.

Edward snickered as the men in question where finally led away and turned towards Jonathan, saying:

“It’s always brawn against brawn in this place.  But what can one expect, with the grand example set by the imbeciles running it.” Unfortunately, one of the orderlies had overheard the sentiment and maybe he hadn’t had his coffee yet or maybe he hadn’t slept well or maybe his girlfriend had broken up with him, whatever it was his temper was especially short that day and he gave Ed a shove forward, hissing:

“Shut it, Nygma.” Edward, unprepared for the attack, hit his head on the table. He jumped to his feet, chin held high, and snapped back:

“Don’t you touch me, you brute!”

“Sit down, Edward”, Jonathan hissed between gritted teeth but was ignored by both men.

“You’re trying to provoke me, Nygma?”

“Are you even stupider than you look?” At that moment, Jonathan took his tea and moved one seat aside, just to make sure he wouldn’t get involved in what was undoubtedly to come. The guard tried to grab Edward by the hair, but the red-head was faster. He ducked and buried his elbow in the man’s stomach. If he’d been stronger or simply better trained, the fight might have ended there but as it was, the man merely staggered for a moment before his fist connected with Edward’s jaw. For a few seconds, the world was a mess of white dots and flickering shadows. Then Edward’s vision cleared and he was staring down the barrel of a gun.

“On your knees, Nygma. Hands behind your head.” Edward took a moment to spit, mostly to check if he was bleeding or not, before raising his hands ever so slowly and making a show out of getting down to his knees.

“You want me to suck your dick next?” The sarcasm was undeniably thick and he was backhanded without hesitation.

“That’s it, you attacked and insulted a guard; I can have you put in solitary for this.”  Right then and there, Edward made a horrible mistake, graver and more severe than any of his taunts had been: He flinched. That sole word, solitary, broke his façade for just long enough to make the guard smile in satisfaction. “Solitary confinement it is, then.”

Jonathan Crane rubbed his temple with a sight while Edward was being taken away.  Well, seemed as though he would have the cell to himself for a few days.

 

_Wednesday_

The first night hadn’t been _that_ horrible. He had just closed his eyes and pretended he was still in his actual cell and not in this hell-hole. But eventually, he woke from his uneasy rest and had to face that there was still nothing there but darkness and the walls of a padded cell. Edward shuddered. He tugged his knees close to his body and laid his forehead on them, forcing himself to breathe steadily.

Edward wasn’t claustrophobic in the actual sense of the word but the thought of this small room with its complete lack of everything made him anxious none the less. Jonathan, however, was a claustrophobe indeed (the irony behind the fact that the Scarecrow himself was victim to such a common phobia was not lost on Edward but he had stopped to make fun of it after he had learned about it’s origin) and Edward had watched his cellmate deal with it and breathe through it often enough to be able to try and imitate the exercise. It helped somewhat, for the moment, and he forced himself to lift his head and inspect his surroundings once more.

He couldn’t see much, of course, there was almost no light, after all, and he was pretty sure that was illegal. Not that he was in any position to complain about that now, even though he would have loved to do just that. Maybe he would write a complaint, after his next break-out, a letter to some tabloid or even better to one of the sponsors, Wayne, perhaps. The man had always seemed like the most sympathetic of the bunch. The thought was somewhat comforting and he tried to anchor himself in it.

No full hour later, he felt as though he was being suffocated. It had occurred to him, that there would be many more nights and days like this ahead and the thought sent him into another panic attack. 

 

_Thursday_

Jonathan closed his book with great care and put it back on the small pile he was allowed to keep. It wasn’t much, just a few volumes, but usually he didn’t have many opportunities to read anyway. It’s been two days since Edward had been taken to solitary confinement and he had finally managed to finish his novel. It had been particularly hard to acquire this one, since some of the orderlies were naïve enough to believe, any book with some substance or thrill could have negative effects on his mental health. He had spend several sessions convincing his therapist that keeping his mind occupied was, on the contrary to what staff was expecting, a most healing exercise. The effort had been worth it, however, and when he had closed the volume in question, he was filled with a sense of satisfaction he seldom allowed himself to dwell in. It was tainted, somewhat, when he was greeted by silence. Usually, Jonathan Crane welcomed the absence of chatter, but he had grown quite used to Edward asking “Any good?”, whenever he stopped reading. They would often have vivid conversations at that point and it was one of the only times they had actual talks instead of their usual bickering. Jonathan stretched a little- his neck muscles where feeling awfully tense- before getting up.

Two days of silence had been a nice change but now it was time to get his cell-mate back.

*

“How are you today, Jonathan?”

“Quite well, doctor, thank you.” The man paused.

“You sound tired. Do you experience trouble sleeping?”

“No, I do not have insomnia. I’m just…” He made his eyes wander a little as he pretended to hesitate.

“You can confide in me, Jonathan. I’ll do my best to help you.” Oh, those young therapists, so pure, so eager, so very unqualified to work with the criminally insane.

“I’ve been wondering, doctor, when Edward Nygma will be released from solitary confinement. We’ve been friends for so long I can’t help but worry that…” He let his voice drop, performed an act of seemingly opening up to the therapist. The doctor bought right into it, flipped his notes open- what an amateur, carrying several files at once- and checked for the details Jonathan had all but asked for.

“As far as I know, Nygma is to spend 21 days in solitary.” Jonathan did not need to fake the shock that took over his facial expression. The doctor looked puzzled. “Is there anything wrong?” Jonathan’s mouth was somewhat dry as he tried to speak as non-condescendingly as possible:

“I’m aware that my license has been long revoked but I would like to inform you that someone like Edward Nygma won’t survive more than 10 days in isolation and that the effects on his mental health will be horrendous even if he doesn’t try to cause himself terminal injuries while being hold there.” The youth did not respond and their session was ended abruptly but Jonathan knew that he had successfully planted a seed of uncertainty, the most underappreciated kind of fear. All that had to be done now was to make it grow.

 

_Friday_

There were scratches on his arms and ankles because he dug his fingers too deep into his skin in a desperate search for sensation. His breathing was rapid and there was something moving in the corner of his eye- he knew that nothing was there and yet it kept on swirling. He couldn’t remain there any longer; his head was going to explode if he did not get out that very minute. Edward jumped to his feet, almost loosing his balance. He flung himself towards the door, bruising his knuckles on the frame, ironically the only part of the cell that wasn’t properly padded, trying to force it open even though the rational part of his brain scolded him a fool for that. It wasn’t the first time these days that his brain turned on him, he had been haunted with images long gone the night before and if he did not use all his willpower to distract himself, he could hear his father's voice again.

Something cold had settled into his stomach and it was tearing him apart. He only noticed that he had hit his head against the door when warm blood dripped into his eyes. With rapid motions, he brushed it away, leaning his head backwards to avoid getting any more of it onto his face. It reminded him of that one time he had to be taken to the ER as a child and they had to sew the wound closed. The punch-line of the matter was that on that particular instance, it hadn’t even been his father’s fault.

His clam fingers tried to find the wound and he was somewhat relieved when he realized it hadn’t been his temple. Not dangerous, than, just a little cut above the hairline. Edward felt the need to laugh, or to scream, to produce any sound at all in this endless silence. If he could only tell for sure how long he’d been there, if he would only know how much longer he had to endure it, maybe there would have been something to look forward to but being as it were he could do nothing but slide back down to the ground and burry his throbbing head in his blood-crusted arms. 

*

Staff had vivid discussions whether or not to treat the injuries once a guard caught a glance of them while slitting a plate through the meal-delivery slot of the door. One of the nurses right out threatened to go in there against orders because she did not want to have anything that might happen to the inmate on her conscience. She was told to back down or pack her things and she begrudgingly complied.

“It’s not right”, she said. “And you all know it isn’t.” A friend of hers, one of the therapists, a nice young lad, had voiced his concern about the matter the other evening and his words worried her deeply. In turn, the way she starred at the doctor now made him wonder, if Nygma was really stable enough to go through the full length of his penalty. He would consult some of the psychologically trained colleagues, he assured his staff, and everything would turn out alright.

                                                         

_Saturday_

“Good morning, Harleen, my dear. Good morning Pamela.“ He nodded at both of them before taking a seat opposite to the two women. Harley greeted him with an enthusiastic:

“Mornin’ Professah Crane!” While Ivy looked at him with dismay.

“What do you want, Crane?”

“I understand that you are going to be released on parole later today?” Ivy sighted and tilted her head to the side.

“Yes.” She answered plainly. Harley nudged her in the ribs.

“Red’s been doin’ great, Professah. She’s gonna get us a new place and all.”

“I’m glad to hear that, child. It’s a shame that not all of our friends share that fortune.” Her face clouded a little.

“You’re talkin’ bout Eddie, ain’t cha?”

“I’m afraid so. They are trying to really break him, this time.” Pamela let out a bitter laugh.

“That shouldn’t be too hard; he’s barely holding it together anyway.” Two pairs of eyes fixed themselves on her. “What?” As Jonathan proposed his plan to her, she shook her head vehemently.

“No. No. I’m not going to move a finger for that little-“, Harleen, as Jonathan expected, came to his rescue.

“Oh, Red, we can’t just watch Eddie rod in there! He’s a friend!”

“Of yours.” Ivy corrected before finally, begrudgingly, accepting Jonathans proposition. She owed him a favour, after all.

*

There was group therapy in the afternoon and Jonathan took his time getting up afterwards. He paused, stretched and grimaced a little, putting a hand to the small of his back. Two of the guards took a step forward, clearly intending to make him move by force if necessary, but the therapist told them to stop.

“Do you need assistance?” She asked warmly. Jonathan forced a smile.

“It’s just an ache I’ve had for a few days now. Worse at night, though. I’ll be all-right if you give me a moment.”

“Well”, the therapist said, taking the clues Jonathan gave her just the way they were intended, “Maybe you should have that looked at, then. There’s certainly something that can be done for you.” One of the guards muffled a groan. Some of the doctors just hadn’t any consideration for the extra effort and frankly danger security staff underwent every time they felt the whim to be humane towards these criminals.

“That’s very kind of you, doctor, but I do not think that-“

“I insist. It’s bad enough that we always have to get you back to a normal weight when you’re transferred here, I don’t want to be to blame for any spinal injuries that might have been overlooked at your admission as well.”

Once in the medical facility, Jonathan exchanged small talk with both doctors and nurses, mentioning ever so briefly that he usually let Edward do the heavy lifting in order to not strain his back further and the room went very silent for a moment.

 

_Sunday_

He could do this. He had to master this situation. He was able to. He had made it through worse. Deep breaths chin up. It would all be over soon. Edward had started to count whenever plates of food had been slid into the cell but he began to suspect that they tried to confuse him on purpose. Or maybe he was merely loosing what little of his sense of time had been left until now.

Whatever the case, he could hardly bring himself to touch the food anyway. Maybe, it occurred to him, they would actually have to let him out if he stopped eating all-together. He was already feeling dizzy most of the time; it wouldn’t take much longer to push his body to complete exhaustion. But then again, maybe they would just let him rot away in here and the risk was too high for him too take.

His mind had become dulled over the days he’d been there, numb almost, but some flashes of memory, both old and recent, kept dwelling into his consciousness. Like that one time the Joker had hit him in the chest with a mallet, shattering 5 of his ribs in the process.  He had spent weeks in the Arkham infirmary in the aftermath and Jonathan was allowed to visit him. When the nurses hadn’t paid attention, Jonathan had taken his hand and asked, sternly, if they had given him enough pain medication. Edward had told him the truth, that he had asked not to me medicated, that is, and that the nurses had complied. Jon had lectured him for twenty minutes straight upon hearing it and in the end, they agreed on asking for a small doses, just enough to make it possible for Ed to sleep at night. The pain had been excruciating, but thinking back on those weeks, the fact that Jonathan had cared enough about his well-being to be there with him kept invading his mind and some part of him wished that Jonathan could be here now as well, holding his hand in the dim light. That was, obviously, sentimental. He always tended to project more of a bond into whatever it was they shared than there probably was and he felt childish for doing so. Jonathan probably didn’t care that he was gone- hell, more likely than not he enjoyed Edwards absence.

Edward shuddered, tugging his legs closer to his body. He should try not to think about any kind of relationships while he was kept here, he decided. It was hard enough not to sub come to self-doubt in this hell of a place anyway and there was no need to give any more fuel to such negative thoughts. 

It was moments like these when he understood why some people hung themselves in solitary.

*

There was a note, rather plain, folded neatly under the Batmobile’s wiper blades. He picked it up with a frown, opening it ever so carefully since there was a good chance it would hold some chemical or another. It didn’t seem to contain anything, though, just a few, scribbled lines:

_There’s something rotten in Arkham Asylum_

_Get there in time and no-one will die_

Bruce read it twice before sealing it into an evidence bag. Whatever this was about, it had to wait until he found Ivy’s layer.

_Monday_

He had been unable to find Ivy but the note kept him awake that night. Early in the morning, he put on the cowl and made his way towards Arkham Asylum. Staff was unusually nervous when he got there, some not even meeting his eye. Clearly, something had to be amiss and Bruce’s suspicion only grew at the sight of paling nurses and doctors shooing them away. He knew a bad conscience when he saw one. Bruce told them, using his most authoritarian voice, that he wanted to check on the costumed rogues currently held there, just to make sure no one broke out or possed a danger. As they walked him past the cells, he couldn’t quite pin-point what made them as weary. Maybe, if he’d only get them to talk…

“I know you do your best to keep up quality treatment here, and that it’s not always easy to-” He paused as he saw the Scarecrow reading by himself in what was quite obviously a cell meant for two inmates rather than one. A quick glance at the patient name’s on the door put some light on who was missing.  Frowning, he asked: “Was Nygma released?” Before the guard could answer, Crane spoke up, using a most disinterested voice.

“They put him in solitary confinement, a week or so ago. Speaking of quality treatment.”

“What happened?”

“He displayed unprovoked, violent behaviour towards a member of the security staff. It’s quite a common penalty, really.” The guard made a little too much effort justifying that measure for Bruce’s taste.

“I want to see him.”

“That’s not –“

“Now.”

*

It wasn’t a pleasant sight, the way Nygma flinched as light poured into the small space he had been kept in, shielding his eyes with blood stained hands. He was pale, eyes sunken, shaking and clearly in no state to be held there any longer. Nygma cracked a smile when he recognized the figure before him.

“I don’t think that I’m allowed to have visitors”, he japed, but his voice was hoarse. Had he been crying? Or screaming? Both, perhaps.

“Can you stand?”

“Day in the night and tussle while flight, a salmon mid air, both crooked and fair, a bird diving deep, a wolf among sheep. What are we?” Nygma’s tongue almost tripped over the words, so eager was he to speak the riddle. Bruce glared at him. It was always best to glare at Nygma instead of trying to answer the riddles because that was the only way to ensure he would not get them wrong. Nygma’s tongue darted out, wetting chipped lips before giving the answer: “Possible, but not very likely.” Bruce ignored protests by both orderlies and Nygma himself as he picked the man up and basically dropped him in front a rather startled nurse, ordering a hot shower and medical assistance for Nygma, as well as a stern word with the director for himself.

*

Edward’s arms were bandaged when they brought him back to Jonathan’s cell and Jonathan felt rage in his stomach at the pitiful sight before him. Not that Edward didn’t try to hide his state under the oh so well rehearsed mask of arrogant indifference but Jon had long learned to look right through it.

“There you are.” He said, putting his novel aside but not raising from his bunk. “I thought you would be gone longer.” Edward hardly reacted, only shrugging slightly, standing in the middle of the cell as though he was uncertain what to do next. His left arm was somewhat clutched to his chest and Jonathan made an inner note to later on have a look at how deep those injuries really were. For now, though, he would have to offer a more direct kind of support.  

“How are you?” He asked, putting just enough stiffness into his voice to not sound too obviously concerned. Edward took a moment to consider, before responding, plainly:

“I’m freezing.”

“Still affected by the sensory deprivation, then. Come here.” He opened his arms and Edward settled into them, so much more hesitant than he would usually do. Jonathan leaned back to let Edward rest more comfortably and pulled the covers over both their bodies.

“Better?” Edward smiled a little as he nestled closer to Jonathan.

“Better.” Jonathan hid a smile of his own in Edward’s still somewhat wet hair. _Mine_ , he thought, as Edward’s breathing settled back into a steady rhythm.  _And he need never know._

 


End file.
